I bought a TY Elvis bear a while ago, and I have grown very attached to the bear since. It wears a pair of shades and has a body of orange fur and a turf of black spikey hair. It is very adorable (to me) and I have brought it out with me on two separate trips, just because I felt like doing it. I sometimes look at it and think to myself that its face reminds me of one of my tuition kids, this girl who likes to play basketball and is very softspoken when we were having English lessons. Right now the bear is sitting in a lazy laid back way on the monitor of my PC which I hardly use anymore, and it is staring quite silently at the ceiling. I find the posture extremely endearing, and I wonder if I would bear to take it away from its sitting place, even if it's just to hold it in my hands. It is a beanie soft-toy and I realise that those are the soft-toys that I like best, not too soft and not too hard and uncomfortable when you hold them in your hands. Sometimes I talk to Elvis and pretend that it is singing to me, when in fact I am singing to myself. I like to think that it is a little vain esp when it lowers its shades and acts all mysterious, just like its namesake Elvis the King. And my, look at those sideburns, they lend such character to the bear.

I was having dinner at the hawker centre and I saw this old man eating by himself, a full plate of chicken and eggs and vegetables, two mugs of coffee by the side. He looked very happy and contented but I couldn't help wonder if he was all alone, not just then but always, because he had no one else in his life. I took a careful look at him. Short, cropped, greyish-white hair, a face of wrinkles, sagging cheeks and eye-bags, skinny neck and forearms. He was attacking his food with voracity; clearly, he had a good appetite, or he must have been very hungry. By now I had finished eating and was walking slowly away from the place. But I kept my eyes on the man. He continued to eat his dinner, oblivious to his surroundings. I felt a little sorry for him, I wasn't quite sure why. Perhaps I was trying to picture myself at his age, old and wrinkled and alone, having dinner by myself and making the best of it by giving my full attention to the food in front of me. And after the dinner, what next? Back home to a flat that is cold and silent and a little dank from lack of ventilation. How is it like to be alone in this world, to spend my life by myself and share nothing with no one not because I don't want to but because there is nobody to share it with? I shuddered as I walked out from the food centre, a little wind was blowing and I was glad I had some warm clothing on.

Tom Everett Scott

They had me meet Jonathan Demme. We bullshitted about acting and theatre in New York and that was it. Thursday, a week from my first audition with Howard, I got a call from a guy like around eight o'clock, nine o'clock. He was like, "Is this Tom Everett Scott?" That's not typical. Everyone calls me "Tom Scott." So, I knew it was related to acting. I said, "Yeah, yeah. This is Tom." He said, "Okay. Just wanted to make sure this was your number." I said, "Wait, wait—who's this?" He said, "This is Ed Saxon from That Thing You Do! I'm a producer on the movie and I'm really just calling to make sure this is your number." So, I got off the phone and I grabbed my laundry bag. My girlfriend Jenny—now my wife—and my roommate Andrew Sgroi were like, "What was that?" I said, "I gotta get outta here. I'm gonna go get my laundry. Then let's go out and get a drink." I go down and then come back up with my laundry and ask, "Anything?" "Nothing." "Phone hasn't rung?" "Nope."

Phone rings. Scoop it up. Say, "Hello?" And this voice says, "Hi. Is this Tom?" I say, "Yep." "Tom Hanks." I was like, "All right." And that was it. I'm sitting in the kitchen of my railroad apartment and talking to Tom Hanks. He's saying all of these great things and, asks, "Do you wanna be in my movie?" That was my big break, that movie. Sure enough, what I was going through and what the character was going through was the exact same situation, really. There's things that started happening that didn't happen before: getting meetings with heads of studios; general meetings with all these people that just wanted to see my face, talk to me in person; and getting straight offers, not having to audition for some stuff. That's nice.

(Original article here)

The moment is a little past 9 pm on a Monday night, and the purpose is an escape from the drudgery of work and classes. The afternoon rain today brought peace and life to an otherwise parched existence hovering on the edge of madness. And as if that isn't enough, what a lot of bullshit from someone who hopes to sell you an insurance plan; if you ever come across one of them, I advise you to walk straight on in the other direction.

Writing in the cloak of darkness is a wholly new sensation. The dull white noise from the television set outside serves as a lullaby, and while I struggle to stay awake, my words come fast and easy, my mind having a mind of its own and writing its thoughts down onto the screen in front of me. What I write is for myself, for me to consume, but at the same time it is also for you, who are reading this at once and not at all, you who are now at least unknown to me, but who nevertheless exist in the future and always.

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